


To Wake in Winter

by elle_nic



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Andy finds Miranda, F/F, Miranda finds love, So i found this last night, i really like it??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 08:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18937177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_nic/pseuds/elle_nic
Summary: While spring sleeps, Miranda is wide, wide awake.





	To Wake in Winter

**Author's Note:**

> I found this last night in my completed fics folder. I wrote it a long while ago but, obviously, forgot about it. It's the style of writing that happens when I'm particularly emotional so this must have been therapy for me to write when I did. I hope you all enjoy it :)))

In the wake of Paris Fashion Week, Miranda always took some time for herself and the girls to shed the stress of the busiest, most important week of her year. This time it had had to wait a few weeks longer than she would prefer, but finally she had a week off to enjoy the quiet of the cold. Central Park in fall and winter would always inspire her to continue with what she had dedicated her life to. The way the crystals of ice settled on branches and glinted in the late afternoon sunlight, and the way her newest coat settled over her form was remedial to her. Taking these solitary walks through the park was an escape from her crazy, crazy life.

Sometimes on these lonesome walks, though, the craziness decided to follow her.

The girls had decided to make a pillow fort and watch some chick flick Miranda had no interest in, so she opted to stroll. The air was sharp and crisp, too cold for her sensitive lips and iconic hair, but she relished in the clarity in her lungs and her visions of artistry. She liked to dress for her walks, too. Pieces of fashion that were made for her, her tailored pants and thick blouse with its rigid shoulder pads and the heels that lifted her, more symbolic than for a need to be taller. The winter reminded Miranda of life, especially when the leaves and flowers fell, leaving a cool carcass of spring for the cold to pick at.

She could picture photoshoots in the bare bones of the trees and the stillness of the lakes as she walked along the paths. Could see the branches reaching for the stars and the waters remaining calm, and in them she saw herself. She looked to the sparse people about, how they shivered and flushed and looked so busy, so eager to return to warmth, and saw herself in them, too. She could see a bit of herself in everyone; the way they strived, the way they didn’t. The way they were happy and the way they weren’t. She liked to feel human in the winter, she liked to feel calm. She felt calm in most areas of her life until Andréa had trudged in and flipped everything on its head. She had been peaceful before the girl arrived, then adjusted to the sunshine smile and found peace in that, too. Then Andréa, for the second time in as many months, shattered her peace and strutted away from her, looking beautiful even as she left. Miranda was, just over a year after that, finding her peace again in the wintery grasp of November.

But as usual, Andréa disturbed her peace.

There, Miranda saw as she stopped walking, was the tall, curvaceous figure of a woman who no longer trudged. Curves revealed by a body conforming black dress and black heels. The silhouette of a fine winter cloak that draped artfully over slender but capable shoulders. Gloved hands that held Miranda’s heart, and eyes that still had not noticed her. Miranda couldn’t believe that she was _just there_. She had always felt when she left Paris last year that she had left Andréa too, there by the fountain, and yet…

The graceful curve of her neck turned to gaze at the lake, showing off a jewel encrusted clip to hold her longer auburn hair away from that lovely face. Sable eyes scanned the lake, the trees, the sky searchingly. Miranda hoped, even if the girl had walked away from her, that she found what she was looking for. Miranda knew what she wanted to find, but Andréa had her whole life ahead of her and she’d never want to ask for Andréa’s best years when she herself doesn’t have her own to give. She looked her fill, remembered how warm even in a Parisian autumn the girl had been. _Radiant_.

And then dark eyes were on her. She could identify no surprise in them as if Andréa had expected her to be stood across the way and waiting for her. She could see certainty in her gait as Andréa walked closer, and she could see those few freckles that kissed along the bridge of her nose. _Jealous of freckles_ , she thought, _how ridiculous_. Andy stopped approaching, looking to Miranda for guidance in this strange ritual they appeared to be taking part of. Miranda stepped forward as her instincts urged. Andy smiled at her, and the air was no longer too chilly. It was just right.

“I…” Miranda began before giving up. She exhaled all she wanted to say, her breath appearing in clouds of white; the colour of surrender. The brunette, a single point of colour in the bleakness of monochrome, watched as the breath disappeared into the wintery air. Miranda thought Andréa might have read what she wanted to say in the gossamer cloud, because in the next moment their mouths were meeting, and her cold lips were spring warm.

“Walk with me,” Andréa breathed against her lips. Miranda looked at her, looked at the sincerity that bled from her mouth and the pleading that lit her eyes.

She nodded.

Winter for Miranda in years past had been full of the inspiration to continue working, the joy she found in fabric and fashion. But, her walks through winter had been lonely all those years. This winter, though, she walked with love by her side and peace in her art. And by spring the next year, she had decided that florals were in.


End file.
